Tartarus, A Wizarding World Story
by MagnaThade
Summary: A murder has rocked the Wizarding World to its core. Auror Jack Backermen is tasked with investigating the death of the first wizard to be shot in three generations, but quickly finds himself caught in a tangled web of conspiracy and intrigue. This story takes places around 20 years after the battle of Hogwarts, and will focus on expanding the mythos of the Wizarding World.
1. Chapter 1

Alright, so just a disclaimer before anyone gets the wrong idea. This story exists entirely outside of the Harry Potter canon, save for the existence of the wizarding world. No Hogwarts, no Harry, and will primarily deal with entirely original characters and their actions. I want to avoid the feeling of a "small world" as much as possible. Also, this has nothing to do with Percy Jackson or Rick Riordan get that thought out your head right now. Feel free to comment and criticize, and I will try to update the story regularly.

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I

A phone call before noon is never a good thing, a phone call before 9:00 am even more so. When Jack Backermen awoke to the sound of his phone's dull buzz at 4:53 in the morning, he knew that there was no force on this earth that could turn his day around. It took several attempts for Jack's numb hand to reach across the nightstand and find the source of his suffering. Grabbing his comically out of date mobile phone, he fiddled with the buttons for a bit and then pressed the lump of cold plastic against his ear.

"Backermen"

He was greeted with silence from the inert device, followed by more buzzing from across the room. 'Great' he though, as Jack sat upright and slowly regained something resembling consciousness. He managed to turn on the wireframe lamp on his nightstand without knocking it over, illuminating the shabby one room flat with its dull orange glow. Head still groggy, he shambled over to his desk on the opposite side of the room where his sleek "work phone" was trying to get his attention.

"Backermen"

"It's Kahn. Look, sorry for waking you this early, but we have a serious problem."

Jack clicked on his stove, desperate to get least one cup of tea in him before everything went to shit.

"Is this the problem that can wait till morning?"

The majority of his clothes were currently in a pile in front of his bed, save for two shirts folded haphazardly on his nightstand and the signature brown trench coat of the auror on a hook by the door. It was said that aurors don't get a proper uniform and badge because they might as well be painting a massive target across their backs, but Jack was sure that by now any dark wizard figure out they all seem to have the same choice of outerwear. That's just the price you pay when your jackets are subsidized by the ministry. Jack was also certain he was wearing his only clean pair of pants.

"I'm 'fraid not. We have a possible murder down by 50 and 7/10ths Slone Square, and, well, and you just need to come down and take a look at this."

Jack settled for the plain white shirt over the plain white one, grabbing his polished oak wand off his desk to assist with his dull blue tie.

"Alright give me a few minutes to get ready. And if Potter starts breathing down your neck remind him that the sun's not even up yet."

"Actually, Potters not working this case. Once you get over here and brought up to speed Minister Granger herself has you acting head of the taskforce."

Jack pulled a packet of tea from a tin on his desk and looked around for a clean mug.

"Taskforce? What are we dealing with here?"

"Look, it's bad. I've never seen anything like this, I don't think else anyone has. Just get over here, the faster we can tell Potter what we're dealing with the better. 50 and 7/10ths Slone Square, I'll fill you in soon."

The phone clicked as Bruce Kahn hung up. It wasn't a natural clicking sound, Jack had set the phone to simulate a traditional hang up click whenever someone hung up, click or no. Sometimes it would click twice when he got called from someone with a phone that would normally make such a sound, but this happened less and less. 'Well fuck me' he thought as he finished getting dressed. The day was already ruined. And before he could even make his tea, much less drink it. Jack sighed and pressed his wand against the pitch black kettle.

Oddly enough the kettle seemed to whistle in harmony to the ringing in his ears.


	2. Chapter 2

II

The first gentlemen was too sharply dressed for your average wizard, sharply dressed in his three piece black suit. This made him dangerous. This made Iosif Zkovytch not like him all that much.

"We are living in troubling times Mr. Zkovytch, very troubling times. And with your help we believe that all of us might be able to see through these troubling times."

The second gentlemen was also too well dressed for his own good, matching the first gentlemen's suit with his one red one. However, he hadn't spoken once during their meeting, which made Iosif hate him slightly less. Under his chair rested a polished wooden chest. It's looked old, older than most of the antiques that moved in and out of this room, and it was the only reason Iosif Zkovytch was willing to meet these two men.

Iosif Zkovytch looked down at the two sharply dressed men, debating on whether or not he had to time to hear them out before he killed them. His track suit was due for a wash anyway, so it didn't really matter if he got blood on it or not. Iosif stroked his 70's porno stash in artificial contemplation, before lighting his second cigar and leaning in uncomfortably close.

"And what do you need from me?"

"Well Mr. Zko-"

"And don't think I do not know who you are. Your sleight of hand mind tricks won't work on me here."

A faint crackling could be heard from the conspicuously quiet second gentlemen. A red smoke, almost the same color as his sharply fitting suit, was trickling out from under the second gentlemen's palms. It smelled almost metallic, as if it was coating the back of Iosif's throat in blood as he breathed in. Iosif had grown accustomed to the taste, choosing instead to empty his lungs by deeply laughing at his two guests.

"Is good trick, no?"

Iosif continued bellowing, watching the faces of the two gentlemen grow ever more impatient. He pointed in random directions as to not give away the exact position of his protection.

"Did you think it would be that easy? I deal with magic types enough to know you don't play by rules." His thick Moscow accent resonating with smug self-assurance. "So what do I do? I find my own magic! While you are in this room, you do not get to intimidate me with your magic." Iosif gestured over to has assorted thugs across the neon red lit room. "I get to intimidate you."

"Mr. Zkovytch" The first gentlemen cleared his throat "Mr. Zkovytch, we are here because we believe you recently did business with someone who the people we represent are extremely interested in finding, and we believe that-" Iosif cut him off for a second time.

"You talk too much. What is it you want?"

As the first gentlemen reached into his pocket 6 Kalashnikovs raised their necks in disapproval. He slowly raised them above his head.

"My wand is useless, I just need to take out a photograph." All eyes landed on Zkovytch, who simply nodded in approval. The first gentlemen went back to slowly retrieving a small black and white photograph of a rather plain looking man and setting in on the table between them. Iosif delicately picked it up and pretended to examine it under the light. He know exactly who this man was as soon as he saw the picture, but Iosif liked the spectacle of it all.

"Even if I did know who this was, my customers remain my business."

"We are aware of that Mr. Zkovytch, and first off, the people we represent are as confidential as you. You can take more than our word that this little incident will never be heard of by anyone outside of this room. Additionally, our people are willing to make a very generous gift, very generous." The second gentlemen reached under his chair for the chest, resting it on the table as one would handle a baby. "Mr. Zkovytch, when Merlin made his pilgrimage, he took with him a single chest of books, the Lost Grimoires of legend. However, what very few people know, is that two of these books were completely blank, to be filled out by Merlin during his trip. And one of these books, Mr. Zkovytch, was reportedly misplaced by Merlin. Mr. Zkovytch, not only are we offering you the same chest that merlin took with him on his travels, but we have additionally recovered 16 pages of his notes as well."

Iosif looked down at his gift, unimpressed. He was indeed very impressed, but Iosif had to look the part of the smug mob boss who had seen and rejected more interesting artifacts. Iosif slowly lifted the rusted clasp, peering inside the chest. Indeed, 16 pages of archaic notes and writings on magic were arranged inside, practically overflowing with what some would consider "lost knowledge". Even if these were not written by merlin, they would fetch a decent enough price on some market, somewhere. However, there was still one more matter Iosif had to address.

"You know gentlemen, I am a smart man. And I know, that you know, that as soon as this chest leaves this room whatever curse you put on it will probably kill me. probably." Iosif nodded to a random thug. They all knew what came next, so it didn't matter who he nodded to. The thug quickly disappeared into the next room, reappearing moments later with a small velvet box. There weren't too many ways of detecting magic in a room that suppressed it, but Zkovytch had a number of very rare toys at his disposal. "Lets see if you thought you could pull a fast on me."

Iosif took the box, and withdrew from it a brilliant silver tuning fork. He struck it against the table with a loud clang, and the pressed it against the wooden box, egger to know what secretes it held. A D flat resonated through the room. Magical, but not lethal.

"Gentlemen we have ourselves a deal."

The fringed Baltic air only made the dingy back alleyway all that more depressing as the two gentlemen made their way back to the main street. The first gentlemen seemed be waddle impatiently as tried to keep himself warm. The second gentlemen didn't seem to mind the weather though, and continued briskly in front of the other. Then, when they had walked for a few minutes up the deserted road, they stopped, and looked back at the run down industrial complex they had just come from. The second gentlemen pulled out a small burner phone from his jacket pocket, and spoke for the first time in about two hours.

"So I'm thinking Chinese food tonight."

"Chinese sounds good."

The second gentlemen carefully dialed, and then placed the phone to his ear. One ring. Two rings.

The was a loud thud, and the remaining windows of the industrial complex shattered from the shockwave of half a kilo of plastic explosive detonated somewhere inside the building.

"It went to voicemail"

The first gentlemen took out the small slip of paper they had procured from the meeting, containing only a few names and two address. He carefully folded it and put it back in his pocket, satisfied with the results of their trade with the late Iosif Zkovytch.

The burner phone, living up to its name, was now nothing more than a bubbling puddle in the hands of the second gentlemen.


End file.
